Hold onto Us
by DancerA101
Summary: Cammie is the perfectionist, the girl who holds her heart away from everyone. No one can get past her carefully built walls. Then there's Zach, the cocky new kid, who's willing to try. Rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! I'm excited about this story! I really like this plot. This first chapter is just a little bit for you guys to read and see how you like it. It's not that long but the chapters will get longer. Read and review, review, review PLEASE! I need ideas, thoughts, and support! So here's my disclaimer.. I do not own Gallagher Girls! Ally Carter does. So here you guys go!**

"What about Mark's party?" Bex's hopeful voice rang through the phone. I sighed and flicked on my left blinkers. Skillfully, I held the phone in between my shoulders as I drove.

"I have work."

"James?"

"I have work."

"Harry's?"

"No matter how many parties you name, it will not change the fact that _I have work," _I say, sighing in frustration.

"Just call in sick," Bex suggests. I pull into my usual spot in the QuikMart parking lot and turn off the car. My spot is ideal; right in front of the store so that it doesn't take long to get inside if it's raining or I'm late. But it's also right underneath a big tree so that if it's hot out, the car stays cold in the shade. There is a sign in front of it on the curb that clearly states that it is for Employees only. It took me months to earn this spot as rightfully mine. Months of getting here early to claim this spot, beating people out for it, and making sure other coworkers didn't park here.

"No. I finally made it to manager and if someone sees me at a party, they'll rat me out for sure. And plus," I say as I step out of my car into the hot, California sun, "It's immorally wrong." I push my sunglasses down over my eyes only to push them back up again as I step into the air conditioned store.

"Yeah well it's also immorally wrong to ditch your best friend. On a Friday night. When you _should_ be out partying," Bex spoke the words slowly as if trying to make me understand.

"Take Macey with you. I'm sure you guys will have a blast. Now I got to go."

"Macey's parents took her on a surprise trip to Paris. They left on they're jet an hour ago." I rolled my eyes. Macey's parents were super rich. Like Daddy Warbucks rich.

"Fine. Then take Liz but I have_ got_ to go." I hung up on her without waiting for her response and slid my phone into the back pocket of my khaki shorts, putting it on mute. Usually I didn't work Friday's but Jen got sick and I had to cover for her. Being the manager and all, I was usually the first to be called in for extra time.

"Hey boss," I say to Mr. Henry back in the employee break room. He looks up at me and greets me with a pleasant smile.

"Good morning Cameron." His loud, nasally voice filters through the room, bouncing off all the walls.

"Cammie," I correct.

He smiles again.

"Of course. My mistake. Cammie." His pudgy belly jiggles under his shirt as he looks around the room, spinning in a slow circle. I have no doubt that he's looking for something he's misplaced.

"Need help?"

"No, no," he mutters, his eyes flickering from the desk to the shelves. "I just can't seem to find your apron." I reach behind me and pull the apron off of the hook where I had seen it when I walked in.

"Found it," I say as I pull the apron on over my green polo work shirt and tie the string in the back with deft fingers.

"Very good, very good dear. Now since Lucy is on her maternity league, we got in a new employee today." Mr. Henry flips open a binder sitting on the desk and loose pages flutter out onto the ground. He doesn't notice so I crouch down and pick them up, knowing he'll lose them if I don't. Mr. Henry continues talking, "His name is escaping me right now, but I'm sure he can tell you. I sent him to the dairy aisle. We got in a new shipment of cheeses and milk." I nod and thank him before briskly walking out of the room and making a beeline for the dairy aisle.

I hated newbies. Not necessarily the person themselves, but I hated how they would come in knowing nothing. They get they're grubby fingers over things that I had made perfect in this store and change it. Here's a quick fact about me.

I'm a perfectionist.

No doubt about it. If it's not my way, it's the high way. People get freaked out walking into my room. Not because of how messy it is, but because how everything is in the exact right spot at all times. Oh and another quick fact about me.

I'm stubborn.

As in so stubborn I really don't know how I have friends. But somehow I do and I have three of the best friends in the world. And the craziest friends in the world. They couldn't be more opposite. Bex was the fiery, tough British girl all the guys are intimidated of. Liz was the quiet, southern girl who was smarter than a calculator. (Yeah we tested it out- she can answer math problems .4 seconds quicker than a calculator can.) And Macey was the rich, runway model who traveled to more countries than Renee Richardson's number of freckles on her face. (Renee has 102 freckles on her face. It took us almost a full study hall to count them.) If you want to know about me? Well I could describe me to you in one word. Average. I'm not smart, but not stupid, not gorgeous but not ugly. I'm not the president of any clubs, or the most popular girl in school, but I am far from a loser. Macey or Bex right now hold the most-likely for Homecoming, and Liz is holding the place for Valedictorian. I'm just their best friend who everyone knows but hardly is ever talked about. And honestly, I really don't mind it that way.

I turned into the dairy aisle, stopping short at the sight before me. The newbie was carelessly restocking the shelf with cheddar and American cheese. To any other employee, they would have thought he was doing a good job. But no. Not for me. He wasn't _separating_ the cheese piles. Just tossing them onto the shelf, mixing the two together. _And_ he wasn't wearing gloves. I felt my hand twitch at my side and I took a deep breath before walking over.

"What are you doing?" I can't help myself from spitting out the minute I'm over there. He looks up at me and then back down to the cheese shelf. In my frustration, I can't help but notice what a pretty shade of green his eyes are.

"Unloading this cheese," he says in a tone that says it should be obvious. I role my eyes and my foot begins to tap impatiently.

"I can _see_ that," I retaliate. "But why aren't you separating the cheeses?" I ask slowly, trying to get his impossibly slow brain to process what I was saying. A smirk appears suddenly at the corners of his mouth which makes me cross my arms angrily. He stands up slowly, getting taller and taller until he looms over my small figure. He brushes his hands off on his pants and sticks one out to me. Gross. Still, I take it and shake it.

"The name's Zach," he says. I notice his confident posture and the way his eyes sparkle a certain way as he looks down at me. He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. The smirk on his face finishes off his look, and he's practically dripping of cockiness.

"I didn't ask you for you're name. I asked you why you weren't _separating _the cheeses. The colors are too similar and if someone buys the wrong cheese, it's on you. The cheddar should be on the left and the American should be on the right." He blinks once, twice.

"It's _cheese_," he says slowly, looking at me like I was crazy.

"I know it's cheese!" I sigh in frustration as I throw my hands into the air. "But it's still important. Everything's important to keep a business moving smoothly. All of this is in the packet that Mr. Henry should have given you." Truth be told, I worked hours on that packet for Mr. Henry. It was basically a guide of the way things should be done around here. So that way there is no confusions. No mix ups. All I had to do was tell Mr. Henry about my idea and he agreed automatically to give them out to all newbie's.

"You mean this thing?" Zach pulls a folded up, ripped packet out of his pocket and opens it up, revealing mysterious stains on the front cover.

"Yes, that thing. Did you read it?" I say, looking at the ripped up packet disdainfully. He laughs, as if this is a joke. I scowl at him. His brows furrow at my scowl.

"You really wanted me to read this whole thing?" he asked, shoving it back in his pocket. I cringe at the sound of the packet crinkling. All that hard work, just for it to be shoved back into a newbie's pocket without a second glance. I don't think so.

"_Yeah_, I wanted you to read it. And you _are _going to read it," I say forcefully. He just smiles, amused, and looks down at me. For a moment he doesn't say anything. "_What?"_

"You're kind of cute for an up-tight bitch." My jaw drops and my face immediately flushes as I feel my blood boil.

"And you're really stupid for a cocky bastard," I fire back. "Read the packet!" I practically yell. "And put on sanitary gloves too!" With that I spin on my heel and start to march away.

"Okay, Princess," he calls after me. I hear the amused note in his voice and know that he's just trying to get to me. My back is turned to him but I can imagine him smirking as he says the words. I nearly lose it. So I take a few deep breaths and calm down. But as I turn out of the aisle and head to the cash register, I can't stop thinking one thing. _Shit, he got the last word._

Liz was smart. But not just smart; she was a genius. At the age of seven she was in Pre Algebra and by the time she was in middle school, she was doing college math. The school had to bring in a college professor to come in during her math period. But part of why she was so driven was because she always had a competitor. Jonas Anderson was always right behind her, just a little behind, making her drive to stay ahead. As long as she could remember, he had teased her and aggravated her, making her hate him. Jonas was friends with Grant; Bex's boyfriend and Cammies brother so she had to put up with seeing him around all the time. They had never been friends; she had called him her "archenemies" to her friends. So when Bex called and asked her if she wanted to go out to a party, the first question out of her mouth was,

"Is Jonas going?" Bex sighed over the phone, annoyed with the constant banter going on between the two of them.

"How should I know? But does it really matter, Lizzie? You guys aren't six. If you don't like him, avoid him. It's really that simple," Bex says, the sound of her car radio playing in the background. "And plus, you don't really have a choice, because I'm already in your driveway."

"What?" Liz jumps up off her bed a runs to her window, peeling back her curtains. Her parked car is sitting in the driveway, Bex in the driver's seat. She looks up and waves at her, smirking to herself.

"Now let's go, we're wasting valuable party time," Bex orders. Liz sighs, giving in. She really had just wanted to stay home and study for her tests on Monday.

"I hate you," she grumbles.

"I know." Bex smiles. "Now put something nice on. That blue shirt you got for your birthday is cute." With that, Bex hangs up without a goodbye and turns her radio up, knowing Liz will be down soon.

"I think I see Bex and Liz over in the kitchen," Grant's loud voice reaches me over the pounding music. The familiar smell of alcohol and sweat surround us. Bodies swarm through the house like a bee nest. James Walker always throws the best parties. And his house is right on the beach, making it a great party spot. People are also scattered across the front lawn and along the beach in his backyard. We head over to the kitchen and it takes us a minute to spot them. Finally, we see them and make our way over. They see us to and I watch Liz role her eyes when our eyes meet. This makes me laugh, making her even more annoyed. We push our way over to them.

"Hey babe," Grant says, slipping his arm around Bex's waist and pulling her close to his side protectively. He will never admit it but he is a big softie on the inside. He watches out for Bex all the time, and when it comes to Cammie, he's like her dad.

"Hey," I say to Bex and Liz. Liz looks away, acting like she doesn't hear me but Bex smiles and nods in acknowledgment.

"Where's Cammie?" Grant asks, his eyes scanning the crowd for her.

"She's at work," Bex says, her tone of voice making it clear that she was not happy with this. Grant laughs and shakes his head.

"She's always working," he says. "I swear she spends more time there then anywhere else."

"You're wrong," I pipe in, "She spends most her time at the soccer field." Everyone nods in agreement. Bex and Cammie have played soccer together since they could walk. That's how the two met; I've heard the story too many times. As they grew up, Bex was always the goalie and Cammie was center forward. As their close friends, Grant, Liz and I always sat in the stands, cheering them on every game. And then of course attended all the after parties.

"Grant, I want to go dance," Bex says, starting to walk towards the mass of bodies swaying in the living room.

"Okay, see you guys later," Grant says to us, following after her obediently. Immediately the air surrounding Liz and I becomes stiff and tense. Awkward even. She picks at her nails, biting them from time to time. It's a nervous habit that I've noticed she's always had. I shift my weight to my other foot.

"I'm going to get a beer," I tell her. "But I suggest you don't." She looks over at me, scowling.

"Why?" she demands to know. We can barely hear each other over the music so I grab her tiny wrist and pull her through the busy crowd. We step outside into the backyard and begin walking to where the beach starts, moving away from the crowd. It's not that much better, but we can hear each other clearly now.

"I don't want to completely rob you of your innocence, and ruin your reputation as the good-girl." Her scowl deepens.

"I am definitely _not_ a good-girl," she counters. I know it will make her mad, but I can't help it and I crack a smile. This sends her into a fury.

"Where's the keg?" she demands, spinning around looking for it. "I want a beer. Get me a beer." I laugh again and grab her shoulders, stabilizing her.

"This bad-girl act is cute. Really, it's adorable. But cut it out. You don't need to do stuff you're not comfortable with just to one-up me," I say. She roles her eyes.

"I'm not trying to one-up you; I'm trying to prove them I am not a goody-two-shoes." Her tone is sharp which makes me cringe slightly, but not enough for her to notice. She really is beautiful. The light from the bonfire to the right of us made her blonde hair look flaxen, and her skin seems to glow. Yeah, I know I sound stupid.

"Oh please, you have not done a bad thing in your life." She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her hip, getting ready to argue her point.

"I have too."

"Name one." I watch as her mind reels, thinking back on all the things in the past that might have been considered bad. Something seems to click in her mind and she smiles, satisfied.

"Sophomore year, Professor Hall gave me his keys to his lab. Instead of using them for school-related-purposes only, I snuck in Johnny after hours. And we made out," she says. Her tone is strong and confident, but you can see the slight blush on her cheeks and the guilty twitch of her eye. Still, I raise my eyebrows, impressed.

"Impressive," I compliment.

"I know. Now where's the damn keg?" she asks again, insistent.

"Don't get drunk," I order her. "Because then I'll be stuck dragging your sorry butt home and explaining to your parents why you're wasted."

"My parents are out of town for the weekend. Business meeting." For any teenage girl, this would be great news. But Lizzie's parents were always gone on business, never home to spend time with her. And even when they were home, they were shut up in their studies, typing away on their computers. I had seen it first hand. Of course I had only met her parents once or twice, not just because they were always away, but because Liz hated me. It was no secret and she didn't try to hide the fact. But who could blame her? I was always teasing her and getting on her nerves about everything.

I sigh. "Alright Liz, I really don't care. Do whatever you want." I let go of her shoulders and she smiles.

"Good. Now come teach me how to use the keg," she demands before spinning on her heel and walking away quickly.

"Kegs in the other direction!" I call after her. Her head snaps back around.

"I know that!" She yells before turning back around and taking an unsure step in the other direction. I laugh before following after her.

Cheese. It was just cheese, but yet she acted like it was the end of the world. She was sassy, she held her own and she was gorgeous. Not Megan Fox gorgeous, but she had an understated beauty. Her long, toned legs went on for miles, and even with the green work smock on, you could tell that girl had curves. She definitely played some sort of sport to get like that. It looked like she spent a lot of time out doors from the dark color her skin was tanned. I remember that her hair was thrown up in a ponytail, an extra holder on her wrist. And even though she probably had just thrown it up, it couldn't have looked more perfect.

Even though I had only met her once, and she spent that time yelling at me, I wanted to meet her again. Mr. Henry kept me busy the rest of my shift, so I didn't get a chance to see her again. I didn't even know her name. But I did know that I couldn't wait until my next shift when I would get to see her again.


	2. Authors note

**Hey guys! Quick author's note! The character POV changing didn't show up for some reason on Fanfiction. So the first POV was Cammies, then Liz's, then Jonas' and then Zach's! So sorry for the inconvenience! I'll make sure they show up next time. Thanks.(:**


	3. Chapter 3

L*-*i*-*z

"I told her this would happen." The words were muffled but they were like a direct bullet shot to my head. I groaned softly and buried my head further into the pillow. I stretched out and squeezed my eyes shut completely. The little bit of light I could feel on the other side of my eyelids was making my head throb.

I took in a deep breath, trying to clear my head when I smelled the softest trace of cologne on the pillow. That's when I realized this wasn't my pillow. Or my room. My head snapped up and my eyes adjusted slowly to the dimly lit room. Pain shot through me from the muscles in my toes straight up to my head. It suddenly became less difficult to ignore the pain when I realized I had a bigger problem at hand.

Who the hell's bed was I in.

The room looked unfamiliar, but I was positive that I knew the voice I had woken up to. Suddenly, a mortifying thought occurred to me and I tore the covers off my body. You know when you have those mini heart attacks? The ones you get when your chair almost tips backward, or when you think someones veering into your lane and is about to hit you, or when you almost drop your phone into the toilet. Those terrifying moments when you are positive you're about to die for a fraction of a second, and then the glorious recovery moment when you realize you're not dead. Yeah, well I just had one of those moments when I realized I was wearing mens boxers. Not the dark wash skinnies I had put on last night. Mens boxers. Wanna know the worst part? They were covered in yellow ducks.

The ear piercing shriek I let out probably woke up the whole neighborhood. But I didn't care. I'd be elated if it woke up the whole neighborhood. Then they could come charging to my rescue with pitch forks and whatever else they needed to get me out of here alive. Thoughts of what could have happened last night swarmed my head as I crawled off the bed. The wooden floor felt cold against my feet, making goose bumps break out on my arms. My legs were shaking in terror as I slowly walked towards the door, unsure if my capture had heard my scream or not. I tried to remember what my dad had taught me about self defense as I walked closer to the door. I was almost positive that I had read a book on the sport of kick boxing in the sixth grade, but my mind was hardly forming coherent thoughts so there was no way I would remember.

I pressed my ear to the door and strained to hear. There was silence for one second. Two seconds. Three. Then the same voice spoke again,

"Yeah she's sleeping right now. When she wakes up, she'll flip." I knew that voice for sure now. Immediately, my legs stop shaking, my spine straightens and I fling open the door, no longer scared. A long hallway stretches out to the left and right of me. I take a left, following the smell of bacon. The hallway quickly leads me to a kitchen. A boy was at the stove, a spatula in his left and, salt in his right and the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. From the back, his black hair looked tangled and unbrushed. His shirt was wrinkled and he wore a pair of khakis. It looked like he had also just woken up too.

"Jonas?" I asked, my voice sounding so quiet in the big, open area. He whipped around quickly to face me. The salt dropped from his hand in his surprise. The glass shattered and salt spread across the floor, covering great distance in a second. I feel like some of the glass shards flew and nailed me in the head because of the sound it created. My hands flew up to my head and I massaged my temples, trying to maintain composure.

"Shit," he cursed silently, "I'll talk to you later bro, stop in sometime." He said these last words into the phone then used his now empty right hand to slam the phone shut and toss it onto the counter. "You're up," he says to me, as if it was completely normal that I was in his house. I watched as he maneuvered by the glass shards around him and walked over to a cupboard where he opened it and pulled out a broom.

"Uhmm..yeah," I muttered. He didn't offer up any explanation as he started to sweep up the mess on the floor. He was horrible at it. He kept missing the big piles and it looked like if he couldn't get a good grip on the broom as if he didn't know where to hold it. I got the impression that he wasn't talking until he finished cleaning up, because all his attention on the mess he had made. Finally, I sighed throwing my hands into the air. "Just let me do it." I snatched the broom away from him, acting like it was a big deal.

"I had it," he said, rolling his eyes but making no attempt to get the broom back.

"Okay sure, whatever, sherlock," He leans against the counter and a smile traces his lips.

"You know you should really be nicer to me," he says as if this is a known fact. This makes me stop sweeping for a second a look up at him.

"Why is that?" I ask. "And why in the _hell_ am I in your house?" His eyes widen slightly at my language, because the truth is I never swear. Ever.

"Wow, you must be really pissed."

"No, I'm really confused and a little bit scared and I really want to know what I'm doing here," I rant, finishing off sweeping up the glass. He points to a dust pan lying on the counter and I pick it up and sweep all the salt and glass into it before dumping it in the trash.

"You don't remember?" he asks, searching my expression. His eyes linger on my face and suddenly, I realized that my hair is frizzy and unmaintained, I probably had huge eye bags my eyes and my shirt was cutting a little too low after a night of sleeping in it.

"Of course I don't remember! Or else I wouldn't be asking you," I say, frustrated as I attempt to pull my shirt up a little higher. He smiles as he realizes that he has something over me. He has something I want and I know I'm not going to get it easily.

C*-*A*-*M

"God, he was so arrogant. You should have _seen_ the smirk plastered onto his face. The whole time I just wanted to punch him in that pretty little face," I vented to Macey over the phone. "And I'm not usually a mean person, right? But this guy, just wait till you meet him Mace. Actually, I hope for your sanity that you don't have to meet him. If he starts attending Gallagher I swear I am going to kill myself."

"So he's cute?" Macey asks. I sigh. Out of all of what I had just told her, that's what she gets out of it.

"Macey," I groan, "that's not the point."

"So he _is_ cute!" she prods, knowing she's getting on my nerves.

"No!" I say, walking into my garage. The car I had gotten for my sixteenth birthday sat in it's parking spot by the silver minivan my mom drove around. We called it The Hulk. No joke. It had been around since I could remember. It survived many storms, and it's fair share of almost-death experiences while on the road. To this day, even though only my mom used it now, the van still smelled like wet clothes and old practice bags and cleats. If you went to clean it out, you'd probably find hundreds of old, moldy McDonald's french fries collecting under the seats. Or DairyQueen straw wrappers.

"So he's ugly?" I get into my car and slam the door shut behind me. Grant' car isn't in the garage so I know that he must be out.

"No," I yell. "He's hot, okay? Now will you please compensate me and tell me how horrible he sounds?"

"He sounds like a horrible person," she repeats, her tone flat.

There's a seconds pause.

"That didn't make me feel better," I finally say as I turn on the engine and pull out of the driveway. Macey laughs one of her genuine laughs that usually only Bex, Liz or I can get out of her. It made me smile along with her.

"Well I have to go. Daddy's going to take me to the Burberry store here. I need knew heels," she says and I hear he deep baritone of Mr. McHenry's voice in the background saying something to Mrs. McHenry about dinner that night.

"Macey, you have spent more money on heels in the last three months then I have spent on my car in the last two years." I hear her sigh over the phone.

"That's because you don't care enough about shoes enough. You're comfortable going to school in your soccer cleats." She says this as if it's a bad thing.

"I only did that once!" I defend myself. "Okay maybe twice." She laughs again and I can tell she rolls her eyes. I can just picture it; Macey sitting in a five-star hotel in Paris in a _Chanel_ dress with _Coach_ pumps, waiting for her dad to get off the phone to take her shopping. Her IPhone will be on the table in front of her on speaker as she files her nails and listens to me droning on. Then I can imagine her walking the streets of Paris with a kind of confidence I will never have. Her head will be held high, her walk will be more of a strut and as the boys heads turn to look at her, she won't even glance back their way.

"Whatever, Cam. I think I'll be back in time for school on Monday."

"Okay, see you Monday. Have fun shopping in _Paris_," I say before we both hang up.

And hour later, my heart is pounding and my adrenaline is pumping as I sprint down the soccer field behind our high school. The clouds above are grey and unfriendly looking. The wind has picked up quite a bit so a chill bites through the air. It's still April; the bipolar month where one day it's snowing and the next it's as hot as Mexico. My old, reliable cleats pound into the ground, digging into the grass as they skillfully dribble a soccer ball down the field. I pretend to fake out a girl on my left and go right, dribbling towards the goal. My eyes linger down to my feet; a bad habit I've always had. Looking down instead of up. The goal's so close and the feeling I get right before I score during games enters my stomach. My foot makes contact with the ball and it goes soaring through the air until it hits the back of the net in the right, top corner. Perfect. As if I really was in the game, I hear cheering coming from off the field. My head snaps over to see a group of boys with my brother in the lead, chanting my name.

"And Morgan scores again," Grant says, imitating the voice of the announcer. I laugh and role my eyes. I walk over to them, meeting them halfway onto the field.

"What do you guys want?" I ask, noticing that none of them had their cleats with them. I could feel the gaze of hormonal boys looking over my body. I didn't even try to cover up; I was only in a sports bra and shorts. I know that none of them would try to pull anything. All of them were more like brothers so my attitude towards it was that boys would be boys.

"What?" Grant asks innocently, "We can't just come watch my little sister play soccer?"

"Big sister," I correct him. Grant and I both really want to know who came out first when we were born, we want to know who is the oldest and who gets all the privileges. But my mother had known it'd cause conflict so she never told us. And she probably never will. Still, we're both pretty insistent on the subject.

"I'm taller."

"I'm smarter."

"Oh come on, we don't want to hear this bickering," Kyle says, throwing a long, skinny arm over my shoulder. "We came here to see if you wanted a ride to the party." I look up at Kyle, one of my closest friends, and can't help but smile. Kyle is a tall, lanky ginger. He's one of the nicest and funniest people I know. I swear that I'd date him if I didn't love him so much.

"Not going," I tell him. He laughs as if this is a joke.

"Of course you're going. You didn't go yesterday. And the new kid is going, so we get to officially welcome him to San Diego." I watch the faces of all my friends and there's a sly smile hidden on every single one of them.

"New kid?" I ask.

"Yeah, Mary said she invited him to the party. Apparently she met him yesterday in the school office after school. He said he'll be there, so were going to go check him out," Jason pipes in from behind Grant.

"What's his name?" I ask, leading the group towards my bag on the sidelines. The sun was pounding down on us and I could feel the California heat drying out the back of my throat. I rustled through my soccer bag till I found my Gatorade. I quickly downed half of it in one sip.

"We don't know," Kyle says, reaching over and grabbing the bottle out of my hand. He takes a quick sip before it's snatched by Jason who finishes it off.

"You're throwing that away," I tell them, frowning and grabbing my shirt off the ground. I pull it over my head and sling my bag over my shoulder.

"Kyle, you throw it away," Jason says, passing it over his shoulder to Kyle. This obviously is not okay with Kyle because he chucks it back at Jason, pegging him in the head. I start to walk away, knowing this will get bad fast. As I walk to my car, I don't turn around but I can hear the shouts and screams of my brothers behind me as they whip the empty bottle at each other. The weekend lay ahead, my boys were behind me and I was unconditionally happy. In a way, they were like my family. And even though I didn't know it, soon there would be a new addition to our happy family, wether I liked it or not.

G*-*R*-*A*-*N*-*T

"Cammie, you get ten minutes. I'm not joking," I warn her as we pull into our garage. Girls take _forever_ to get changed. No joke. How long could it take? Really, all you need is to roll on deodorant and throw on a clean shirt and pants. My rule is "if they smell good, they'll be good." But girls are so difficult. Theres the makeup and then for some reason they feel that their hair needs to be perfect. Don't even get me started on the clothes, though. Who really cares about if you're shirt matches your shorts. And shoes too, who cares? I own three pairs of tennis shoes tops. But Cammie's closet floor is covered in them. There's heels, ballet flats, sneakers, Sperrys and three hundred other types of shoes.

"You guys are the ones making me go to this party. So go ahead, leave after ten minutes but I win either way," she points out as she opens the car door and jumps out. Kyle laughs beside me, knowing she's right. Jonas and Jason took a different car so they could pick up Bex and Liz. Of course, Macey was in some other country that I will probably never see.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumble as we walk into the kitchen through the garage door. "Whatever floats your boat." The sound of her laugh lingers, bouncing off the walls as she runs out the door and down the hallway to the staircase. Kyle leans against the island and sighs.

"Dude, have I ever told you that your house is huge?" he asks, his eyes scanning the room around him. It was big, but not not huge. Just a lot better than the apartment Kyle lives in by himself. Both Kyle's parents are unstable, his mom was a druggie and his dad drank, hardly ever sober. The whole situation was so screwed up, and so he moved out. The only reason he stayed with them so long was because he had a little sister; Skylar. She was only six, hardly old enough to understand why Kyle didn't live with her anymore and why her parents were so messed up.

"That's because you live in a run down shack," I say, grabbing an apple from the basket in the middle of the table. I threw it up in the air and caught it, taking a big bite.

A look of mock-hurt crossed his face as he said, "My apartment costs four hundred a month. That is worth way more than a shack. And plus, it has class, which a shack doesn't have." I snort through my nose and take another bite of my apple.

"You call a few cup coasters, some old pillows on an even older couch and old Christmas lights class?"

"Okay, maybe class isn't the right word. More like its," he thinks for a second, "Cozy."

"Yeah, if cozy means absolutely no space," I counter. He rolls his eyes and waves this off as if the points not worth arguing for.

"Where's Cam?" Kyle asks, glancing down at his phone to find the time. "The party starts in ten."

"I guess we'll have to be fashionably late then," we hear Cammie yell from upstairs. "Have you seen my green shirt?" I roll my eyes, this is a typical thing for her to ask. Cammie's clothes littered the floor of her room, the floor of the laundry and even spilled out into the hallway. Sometimes, I even found some of her shirts in my room. But, being the good brother I am I answered,

"Which shirt?"

"The flowy spaghetti strap one with the low back," she said. I immediately remembered seeing it in the clean clothes hamper.

"Check the hamper," I call.

"Which one?"

"Clean." I hear footsteps then some banging of the hamper lid and then silence for a second as she rustles through the bin.

"Got it!" I finally hear her say. "I'll be down in three seconds."

"Good," Kyle sighs, "I'll be waiting in the car." He turns on his heel and starts walking to the garage. I laugh.

"It's your funeral, it's a hundred degrees in that death trap," I tell him. He groans and kicks the door.

"Hey, be nice to that door. It's my favorite," Cammie says from behind us. We both jump at her sudden appearance. She's wearing the green top with jean shorts and her white vans. Her hair is curled and she's wearing only the slightest traces of makeup. She was so pretty, so gorgeous and every guy knew that. That's why I had to beat a lot of people up. No guy deserved Cammie. Not one single one at our school. Not even Kyle, Cammie's best friend. All of the guys only wanted Cammie for her looks and her body; trust me, I knew how a guys brain worked.

Kyle wolf whistled. "Looking hot babe," he teased, elbowing her in the ribs, "You going to get yourself a man tonight." Cammie giggled and looped her arm through his before heading to the garage.

"Nah, you're my only man Kyle," she said. I followed behind them. I didn't have to worry about Kyle; he was just a good friend of Cammie's, they were practically inseparable.

"Kyle, you're gay," I said, smiling in-spite of my condescending tone. Cammie laughed but Kyle just shook his head, smirking as he pulled open the passenger door for Cammie before hopping into the backseat. As soon as Cammie draws her attention to her phone, Kyle leans forward.

"I'm not gay, I've gotten laid more times than you have," he whispers to me.

"Once more," I hiss back and this time it's his turn to laugh. He won't let this fact go and ever since sophomore year, he's been boasting about it.

"Yeah, yeah, get mad about it," Kyle provokes playfully as we pull out of the garage. The last couple rays of the California sunlight for the day are hitting down on me through my windshield, I have my sister on my right, my friend behind me and I'm going to see my girlfriend with a full night ahead of us. I can't help but think that this is what everyday should be like as we turn out of the driveway and drive towards whatever awaits us at the party.


End file.
